


...A Tiger by the Tail

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-15
Updated: 2008-11-15
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: It's funny, the things that strike our fancy…





	...A Tiger by the Tail

**Author's Note:**

> Because you know, just from _that look_ in _that scene_ , it _totally_ turns him on. Written in just a hair over a day.
> 
> Disclaimer: Holy Jesus on a Triscuit, _so_ not my characters.

He was only meant to be there to pack up her closet while she sorted through the piles of books to decide what came with her and what got purged in the move to his house. She'd already declared that the majority of the self-help books would definitely go—she had, she advised, no further need for _What Men Want_ and its ilk.

He had found all manner of shirts, skirts, trousers, socks, pants, most of which should have gone straight into the laundry, but per her instructions went directly into the box. She'd even told him not to worry about folding them, though he did anyway.

The latest item he'd found, though; it looked a little like a bathing suit, what he'd picked up from her closet floor, black and satiny and he was all confusion until he turned the thing around—

The tail was still attached to the backside.

Right beneath where it had lain were the accompanying collar and cuffs. There also rested the headband, to which two bunny ears were attached and bent at rakish angles.

And there was the hosiery, black fishnet stockings. He picked them up, feeling the knit of the fishnets between the pads of his finger and thumb.

He cleared his throat, recalling the first time he'd seen her in it, his thoughts distinctly lusty. He'd seen her completely naked more times than he could count, but there was something very sexy, very alluring about the outfit, the way it hugged her every curve, accentuated her full breasts. There was also the tail. Something about the tail on her backside, the way his eyes were drawn and fixed to that spot… he closed his eyes, could only see her in the outfit, tracing his eyes over every line of her body.

He wasn't sure if he called her name, or if she came to him of her own accord, but suddenly she was standing over him, asking, "Mark, what is it?"

"Your bunny girl outfit," he said, straining for normalcy in his tone as he glanced up to her from his place on the floor. "I found it."

She laughed, turning an adorable shade of pink. "Oh God. That thing."

"Yes," he said. "That thing."

"I don't need to keep that," she advised. "You can toss that into the discard pile."

"I'm not doing any such thing," he said, setting all of the component parts of the outfit to his side, folding the bodice carefully in half then half again.

"What?"

"The bunny girl outfit stays," he said authoritatively.

"Oh," she said, nonplussed. "Okay then. It stays." He turned back to the closet, felt her fingers in his hair. "Why don't we call it a day? We've been at this all afternoon, and you've made quite a dent. I can actually see the floor in there."

Having regained his composure somewhat, he got to his feet, sweeping the bunny outfit up from the floor and setting it on top of a closed box for inclusion later. "You had quite the heap. I'll bet you didn't realise you had shoes under that mess."

She reached down, picked up a pair of black pumps. "I was wondering where these had gone off to!" she marvelled.

"It's a miracle," he said dryly, with a small smile.

"Saint Mark, finder of lost shoes," she said playfully, embracing him and giving him a quick kiss. For a moment she had a weird look on her face, but it was gone in a flash, and she smiled up at him. "We're long overdue for supper. What do you say to Chinese takeaway?"

It was true he was hungry, but not necessarily for food of any sort. Setting that aside for the moment, though, he nodded, even agreed to run out to fetch the food from the place around the corner.

"You're a darling," she said.

He phoned ahead two orders of pan fried noodles with chicken and vegetables, and when he returned with the order, soft, soothing music was playing on her stereo, and she was waiting on the sofa with a couple of glasses of wine. Chardonnay, from the look of it. And though she sat there dressed in jeans and a tee, he could not get the image of her in the bunny girl outfit out of his head. How much he had been attracted to her in that outfit that day, and had not only felt guilty for thinking such thoughts due to her mortification but had also felt powerless, completely unable to act on any such attraction at the time.

Suddenly, things felt a little… unresolved.

"Sorry, I know it's not your favourite," she said, handing him a glass of the pale gold wine, "but it's all I have right now."

"It's all right," he said, smiling, reaching out to touch her cheek. "I'd rather have the worst Chardonnay in the world with you, than the finest Merlot without."

She pursed her lips into a shy smile. "You say the sweetest things."

"Here's your dinner," he said, handing her a small white carton and a pair of bamboo chopsticks.

"You see what I mean?" she teased. "Sweet talker."

He laughed, settling back into the sofa, digging into his carton and eating with great relish. This particular restaurant made a very good fried noodle dish, he had to admit, and the wine, oddly enough, complimented it perfectly. He was through with both probably more quickly than he should have been.

"I'm stuffed to bursting," she announced, setting her emptied carton down on the table, draining the last of her wine from the glass. She took his from him, then leaned forward to kiss him. She had probably only meant for it to be a quick one, but with his thoughts of earlier, he held her fast to him, engaging her in a deep, luscious kiss instead.

"Mmm," she murmured as she pulled back, her shining blue eyes meeting his own dark ones. "I'm aching from moving the books around. I'm going to take a quick shower."

"I'll… clean up after dinner," he said, surprised by the complete non sequitur.

She rose from the sofa, leaning forward to kiss him again before heading towards the back of the flat. As promised, he cleaned up the takeaway boxes and wine glasses, throwing the former into the trash and washing the latter out by hand in the sink, standing them up on a clean kitchen towel to air-dry. He dried his hands and, after refolding the mussed blanket on the back of the settee, decided he would go and join her in the shower. 

Strangely, as he got nearer to the back of the flat, he realised the water in the bathroom was not actually running. He furrowed his brows.

"Bridget?" he called out.

"In here."

She was in the bedroom. The door was nearly closed.

He pushed it open and could hardly believe his eyes when he did:

She had put the bunny girl outfit on, and she was smiling in a very self-satisfied fashion, her chin raised, her cheeks glowing. She looked magnificent standing there, feet shoulder-distance apart and sheathed in those high heels, legs bare and looking shapely indeed, hands on her hips. She wore the ears atop her dishevelled hair; she'd put on the collar, the cuffs, the bodice. As she turned to stand in profile, he saw the tail was intact.

He couldn't move or speak at first.

"I didn't think you'd ever actually ask," she said at last, "so I decided to be a little… proactive."

"Was it that obvious?" he asked at last, his voice surprisingly raspy.

"The fact that you wanted to save it," she said, striding forward, "and that bit of firmness when I went to kiss you earlier kind of said it all."

He could not do anything just yet but stupidly feast his eyes on her. As if reading his mind, she turned all the way around, then looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Jesus," he said, his eyes fixed on the tail, "You look astounding."

She wiggled her backside; the tail moved accordingly. "Glad you think—"

"Jesus," he said again in a throaty voice, interrupting her, moving quickly towards her. His hands reached across her hips and over the front of her bodice, up over the satin cups to the skin above it, pulling her against him and pushing his hips forward, placing his mouth against her neck, grazing his teeth on her neck.

She gasped.

He ran his hands back down to her hips, to the lower edge of the bodice, to directly over the satin vee between her legs, pressing his fingers hard into her.

"Oh, Mark," she whispered, her head falling back. "If I'd had any idea…"

"You had to know how fucking sexy you were that day," he growled. "You had to have seen the way I was looking at you, even though I felt awful for it—"

"Awful," she managed; he thought it might be a question.

"Because I knew you were embarrassed," he said, taking her earlobe between his teeth, "even though you had the most gorgeous body I'd ever seen."

She spun to face him; with the heels on she was nearly as tall as he was. "Ever?"

He nodded even as he dove forward to kiss her, pulling her by the backside into him, his fingertips brushing against the tail driving him even crazier.

He always wanted her, of that, there was no question—but this, _this_ was a passion demanding to be satisfied as soon as possible. He backed her towards the bed, wished he could will his clothing off of his body, then felt her hands undoing his trousers at the waist, pushing them and his boxers down so he might step out of them.

"Wish you could leave it on," he said, his fingers fumbling at the waist of the solid bodice.

"Lucky for you," she murmured, tugging up on his shirt to pull it over his head, "there are snaps."

He blinked, befuddled. "Snaps?"

"I think you heard me," she said huskily, pulling his hand down between her legs. That's when he felt it, the seam; he pulled upon it, releasing the snaps. He lifted the front half, then pushed his fingers forward into the heat there.

She gasped his name, then bit on her lower lip, her eyes closing again.

He had to have her. Now.

He kissed her again, raised her up under her arse; she wrapped his legs around him as he lowered the both of them down on to the rumpled bed; the feel of the patent leather of her shoes against his thigh, of the satin of the bodice against his abdomen, of the cuffs on her wrists as she ran her hands over his bare back, enflamed his ardour even farther, and he groaned into her mouth as he continued to kiss her.

"Is this what you wanted," she whispered hotly into his ear, fingernails raking across his hips, "when you first saw me that day?"

"Yes," he said breathily, his hand under her arse again, stroking the skin of her thigh, fingers teasing over her again, making her squirm and moan beneath him. "Oh, _God_ , yes."

"You can have it," she replied between heaving breaths, gently biting the skin of his chin, bucking her pelvis up. "You can fuck your bunny girl."

With a forceful drive forward, he did just that, to the hilt; the both of them cried out at once. Supporting himself on both arms, he continued thrusting into her as her hips moved up into him, as her body lifted up against him, as her nails played upon his back, sending every nerve ending into a frenzy.

He looked down at her in the midst of this all, to her parted lips issuing guttural, impassioned sounds; her closed, fluttering eyelids; her chin lifted skyward as she arched her head back; the sweat-dampened hair at her temples; the bunny ears pushing into the pillow above her head. At that moment, she opened her eyes to look back at him, and, still panting, she smiled the most wicked smile he'd ever seen.

"Like to watch your bunny girl, do you?" she breathed.

He did not reply with words, only redoubled his efforts, not taking his eyes off of her. He could feel her coming ever closer to climax, could hear it in the intensity of her cries, but it was only when she actually came that she closed them again, arching her head even further back into the pillow, digging her nails into his hips, still pushing up into him.

Beneath him, flush with her energetic efforts, she was just… beautiful. Sexy. Hot. And coming for him.

With a final thrust into her, he followed suit, a loud and long groan falling from his lips, nuzzling into her neck, tasting the salt on her skin, feeling her hands splayed over his buttocks.

"Ohhh," she said, a mixture of declaration and a sigh, letting her arms fall to her sides. He rested on the bed beside her.

"Mmm," he said, concurring with her assessment.

"Wish had thought to pull this outfit out sooner," she said muzzily.

"Mmm," he said again, lavishing her with a languid kiss.

"I can see now why," she began.

"Hm?" He reared back to look at her.

"Why you wanted to keep it."

He laughed low in his throat, feeling sleepy and satiated at the same time. "It's not the outfit," he said, "so much as the way you wear it."

She smiled, lifting a hand to run her fingers over his hair as he looked at her. "I don't know which I like more," she said. "Knowing you're watching me, or watching you myself."

"Do you?" he asked. "Watch me, I mean?"

"Sometimes," she said, blinking her eyes slowly, moving her fingers down over his cheek. "It's lovely, watching you."

He felt unexpectedly shy, felt his skin flood with a blush.

"Oh, Mark," she said with a giggle, tracing a thumb just under his eye. "You're too adorable sometimes."

He rested his cheek down on the pillow beside her, closed his eyes and pulled her to him, loving the feel of the satin on her back blending with the soft, warm skin of her shoulders. He heard a pair of thumps; she'd kicked those shoes off. "If anyone else called me 'adorable'," he said, "I'd give them a glare that would ice over a summer day."

"I can well imagine," she said in return, wrapping her leg over his. "Would expect no less."

He reached to stroke her upper arm. "Still wanting that shower for your sore muscles?"

"Right now," she said, "I can't quite tell that I have them."

He chuckled again. "Perhaps we should stay ahead of the game," he said, "and quell the aches before they return."

She raised up from the pillow enough to surprise him with a kiss, one that threatened to stoke his desire all over again until she pulled back. "Just don't want you to forget," she said, a hint of seriousness in her light tone, "that I love you."

"I'm not likely to forget. Ever." He kissed her in return, not caring if their shower was delayed even further. "Because I love you too. Especially when you're wearing this," he added in a teasing tone, hoping to get her to smile. It worked.

"So what _is_ it exactly about a bunny girl outfit, anyway?" she asked, shifting herself so that she was leaning over him, her hair dangling in his face.

"I told you," he said. "It's what the outfit does for you."

"But would it be nearly as effective," she continued, "minus the ears, the collar, the cuffs and the tail?" She reached forward to kiss him again; she then climbed over to straddle his hips before she sat upright again. As if to underscore the point, she reached up with both hands to right the ears, which had gone askew.

He could feel that tail against his thigh, felt a surge of lust race through him again. He put his hands on her hips, pressed his fingers tightly into her.

"Ah," she said with a smile. "I think I have my answer."

He pushed himself up to sit so that he could better kiss her; she scooted forward on her knees and he embraced her around the waist.

"Mm," she said. "Who knew a pair of ears could get such a rise out of you?" She reached down to further make her point with extremely nimble fingers.

"It's not the ears," he said roughly, arching into her.

"The collar?" she asked, moving her fingers faster and faster.

"No," he said, choking on the word, feeling sweat beading on his forehead as the tail continued to rub on his leg.

She stopped. "What then?"

"Bridget," he said in a strangled voice.

"Ahhh," she said, her tone enlightened as she lifted up on her knees, threading her arms around his shoulders. As she went down on him, he gasped, feeling the tail press against his leg.

_Jesus_ , he thought, or muttered; he wasn't sure which.

It happened again and again, each time she rose and fell on him, making him dizzy, making his head drop back. He was sure that if not for her hands around his neck, he would have fallen back onto the bed. His hands went from her waist down to her arse, cupping, squeezing gently, causing her to whimper.

She went faster, plying his jaw and throat with kisses, pulling her teeth over the skin there, before she broke away to join in on his chorus:

_Oh God._

Thoughts of her riding him, of her wearing the outfit, of that tail, was a torturous bliss; he came very quickly, very powerfully, as he pulled her down onto him with as much force as he could muster.

Spent, breathless, his head spinning, he fell back onto the bed, panting for air.

She was over him again when he next opened his eyes, wearing an impish grin on her face. "As I mentioned. Lovely."

He could only sigh a laugh and reach up to embrace her.

"It's the tail, isn't it?" she asked in a low voice.

"How did you guess?"

"That bloody thing was flapping behind me the whole time. Seemed to drive you wild."

He chuckled again. "That it did." He ran his hands over her back, to her bottom, to the soft ball of fluff pinned down there. "Darling," he asked, his voice suddenly full of concern, "did you…"

"That wasn't for me," she said, kissing his chin. "That was for you. Besides, I'm not keeping a scorecard. You'll even things up. You always do."

He kissed her decisively on the mouth. "Let's have that shower," he said, "and I'll be happy to do my best."

With a beaming smile, she pecked a kiss, then rolled from atop him.

He didn't think watching her slip out of the bunny outfit would be nearly as arousing as watching her wearing it, but he felt a bit of a voyeuristic thrill as she took off the cuffs, the collar, the ears, and finally the bodice itself; his heart was racing, his breathing, decidedly unsteady. She turned and looked at him with a smirk as she stood there, stark naked and gorgeous.

"You really are too much."

"I cannot help myself," he said, pushing himself up off the bed, "if I often have the undivided attention of the most desirable woman I've ever known." He slipped his hands over her hips, loving the feel of the cooling, smooth skin there.

"A woman, I might add," she said, "who's willing to shag you at the drop of a hat."

"Or, as the case may be," he said, lifting a singular eyebrow, "a tail."

Their eyes were locked, their thoughts in sync, and without another word they made haste to the bathroom to shower.

Past experiences told them that trying anything in the shower in her flat was a bad idea, because the bathtub had no non-skid tread on the bottom, and the walls were not suited for leaning against. They simply washed quickly and thoroughly—not that he didn't enjoy running his soapy hands over her wet skin; in fact, it made him look forward even more to what would come next—then towelled down bodies and hair alike before returning to the bedroom once more.

She was cute and pink standing there, her hair mussed and dangling in her eyes.

"If you don't mind," he said, "put it back on."

"Are you kidding?" she asked.

"No."

"It's damp from sweat and disgusting," she said. "You're mad."

"I may well be," he said.

Smiling, she slipped into the bodice again.

"Don't bother with the snaps," he said. "Or the rest of the outfit, for that matter."

"Just this? The thing with the tail?"

Just seeing her standing there in 'the thing with the tail' made him hornier than hell, but he realised one little thing was missing. 

"And the shoes."

"You're mad," she said again.

"This is my little fantasy," he said. "Humour me."

She put the shoes on, and, the look thus complete, he strode forward, embracing her, nuzzling into her neck, running his hands over her backside, to the loose lower half of the bodice, to the flapping tail. "I want you," he began, "to lie down."

"What?"

"Lie down, love," he said. "Let me do all the work this time."

She blinked, not sure where he was going with this, but deciding to trust him all the same; she went to the edge of the bed and sat down, then swung her legs up, resting her head on the pillow.

Seeing her lying there, it was all he could do to not leap upon her like the madman she'd accused him of being.

He kneeled at her feet, pulling them apart so he could crawl forward, then reached back to hike each knee up in turn. He then leaned forward to kiss her on the lips, resting on one elbow, using his free hand to run his fingers over the satin of her outfit, to her hip, to her thigh, then to reach down between her legs.

She moaned, twitching her hips upward.

He broke from the kiss to move to her cheek, her earlobe, her jaw, then her neck, as he simultaneously teased her with his fingers, lightly flitting over her but not pressing into her. He moved his mouth over her collarbone, then to the skin of her chest, dipping his tongue down as far as he could between her breasts with the bunny girl bodice on.

"Mark, God," she said, her voice breaking, "enough… stop teasing…"

He laughed low in his throat. "All right."

He reared back up onto his knees; for a moment she looked surprised, alarmed, until he turned his head and kissed her knee, bringing his hands back around to her bottom, pulling the back end of the bodice out from under her, the part with the tail attached to it. He then kissed a trail down her thigh as far as he could before scooting backwards. He glanced up and saw that she understood what he meant to do, closing her eyes, lifting her chin.

He bent and continued kissing the skin of her inner thigh. She shivered when he traced his tongue along the crease of her leg, but when he moved down, touched his lips to her, drove his tongue into her, she cried out, bucking her hips forward. He then fluttered his tongue over her, focusing primarily on the knot of nerves there; she moaned and arched her back. He could feel that damned tail just brushing under his chin, and with each lunge forward he groaned a little at the thought of it; all he could do from his current position was arch into the mattress. The movement, the friction, was not helping him to quell his own desire.

He alternated between the two, his fingers playing along her thighs, until her cries became more insistent, more desperate; with a throaty moan she came, her body stiffening into him and shuddering with her climax, before sinking back into the bed.

He turned his head and kissed her inner thigh tenderly again, running his fingers lightly over the skin of her legs, closing his eyes as he willed his pulse to calm, his breath to steady.

"Oh, Mark," he heard her say from what felt like a million miles away. "You are too fucking good to me."

He laughed low in his throat; she dropped her knees and he crawled up to lie by her side. She still had that telltale bleary, faraway look in her eyes as she smiled up to him.

"Always happy to oblige," he said, raising his fingers to stroke her hair.

"Do have one favour to ask of you," she murmured. "This thing?" She pointed to the bodice. "So not comfy to lie in."

As if he could refuse stripping her out of her clothes.

He sat up to tug the lower edge of the bodice as she lifted her hips up to allow him to do so. He slipped it down her legs and off, realising only belatedly that the tail was no longer attached to the bottom. 

It remained on the bed.

"Oh no," he said, picking it up, having broken free from its pin.

"What is it?" she said.

"The tail," he said, holding it up for her to see.

She laughed. "You shagged my tail right off of me."

He laughed too as he tossed bodice and tail alike back onto the pile of boxes; he figured he'd worry about folding it later.

He was thankful, and not for the first time, that they had not bothered to make the bed earlier; that made it much easier to reach over and pull the covers over the both of them as he curled up to her again.

"It's really too bad," she said, somewhat disconnectedly, "that you can't tell."

"What, darling?"

"Just by looking," she said; obviously she felt this was explanation enough.

"'Just by looking' what?" he pressed on.

"The extent of a man's _talents_ , just by looking at him," she said at last. He finally understood, and started to laugh lightly. "I would have been jumping you at the Turkey Curry Buffet, reindeer be damned."

"What, the reindeer jumper wasn't sign enough?" he teased.

"True," she said, "the big red nose should have been my clue."

God, she was wonderful beyond his comprehension; he reached forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her close as her arm came around him.

"I don't know what I ever did before you," he said in a whisper.

"Clearly you made do for thirty-odd years," she said.

"I made do, that's about it," he said, kissing her along the hairline, stroking her bare bottom. "Plodding along in my drab, grey life. And then… you. Never had anyone in my life like you. Certainly never had so much fun in bed."

"It's not every girl who can tease you about a reindeer jumper within minutes of an earth-shattering orgasm."

"I think you know what I mean, Bridget," he said seriously.

She was quiet, only tightened her arm around him. "I know," she said at last; she didn't sound chastened—she sounded smug.

_The end._


End file.
